


Being Blind

by hitagashi



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blindness, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitagashi/pseuds/hitagashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard being blind. Even harder when you have appearances to keep up.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Warnings: medicated drug use, blindness, mentions of severe injury and trauma, use of the German language (I may not use it properly, sorry)<br/>This is mostly pre-slash and ends up slash near the end. Its major focus is on codependency, friendship, and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary: It was odd, really, how calm you could be while sinking down to your death.  
> Word Count: 1602  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown nor do I profit from this story.
> 
> I'm redoing this for various reasons. It didn't work and it wasn't something I liked anymore. It's less that he relies on Chase being a dick and more that he needs to seem anything but blind and Chase helps. I am a sucker for codependency. They'll also have a very tentative friendship.

It was odd, really, how calm you could be while sinking down to your death. Not the worst possibility for it, to be sure. There could always be burning to death in one of Kimiko's fits of rage, being ripped apart by winds from Pedrosa, finding himself crushed to death because of Clay, or even drowning because of Omi. Then of course there's Wuya killing him some violently horrible way. And Chase of course. He could beat Jack to death or eat him alive or something. Bean could... he hated that train of thought actually.  
  
Another reason for his... seemingly brave front. Well, it wasn't something he could control. He'd tried, earlier, to get them to change course. No one listens to a passenger, of course. Not like he didn't own jets that he flew around all the time. Or even that he spent more time in the air than anyone here did. No. Completely unlikely.  
  
Still, he could have stopped it. He could have forced his parents onto a plane he made and he flew. It would have saved them the grief. Well, his mom more than his dad. He spared a chuckle at the thought of his Nanna hitting his parents over the head for not listening to him. It was, admittedly, very funny to him. The chuckle was a bad idea, blood spraying out of his mouth and bile welling up in his throat.  
  
He could remember the way the plane shook as bits came away, crucial, **large** bits. Ones that made the plane take a turn downwards, speeding down to the icy water below. Another chunk had gone, an even larger one than before, sent the plane into a barrel roll. There was acrid smoke pushing into the cabin, making the people flying cough and splutter. His mother was terrified, his father too, both trying hard to both reach for him and stay in their seats.  
  
It was, in a sense, their fault. If only they'd listened. But at the same time he knew they just wanted to spend a quiet flight with all three of them there. In the main compartment. It should be noted that they had never flown in anything but first class before, something that made them chuckle when they became confused over simple procedures. And the baby. That thought made his stomach curl even as he coughed up some more blood.  
  
His mother had screamed, asked him what was wrong, what was happening, even as he got out of his seat and stumbled up to the cockpit. Red eyes had gone over the copilot and pilot's faces, watched them shake and scream into the headset. They were terrified. He'd practically had to rip them away from their spots, sending them into the passenger cabin with a shout to tell them to get everyone out. Out, out, out when he gave the signal.  
  
It took a bit to steady the plane, forced it to align properly. A few twists, a bit of a tumble, really, and he almost had it righted. He'd relayed his message, told the control station he had control of the plane, not to worry, he could help. That the men he'd pretty much kicked out had really been kicked out and that they were going to facilitate a jump once they were 30 more feet. Never said where, what direction, but that it would happen. The wind would jerk them into the ocean, hopefully to the rescue team. He hoped the baby would be all right.  
  
 _“We understand. Good luck, Mr. Spicer.”_  
  
This is the second last thing he heard most clearly. The last being his mother's scream as she shouted for him to come with them, hurry, please, not to leave her. Her screams, sadly, made him smile. Because at least he could say he was loved. The window broke, flooding the cockpit. He feel into unconsciousness, unaware of the hand pulling him a bit higher and into sight of the rescuers.  
  
\--=--  
  
 _Beep beep beep_  
 _beep beep_  
 _be-beep be-beep_  
 _be-be-beep_  
  
Eyes slowly sliding open, the genius let a frown take his face. He was in so much pain. Jack could hear people hovering, could hear them moving and trying to be quiet. That was wrong. His hearing was only that good when he was so sick his eyesight went. Squinting brought him nothing but panic, really. Even when he was sick he could make out light. So why _couldn't he see_?  
  
“Calm _down_ , Mr. Spicer.” He shot up, slapping away offending hands and moving to stand. He felt things... needles... tugging at him. With a snarl he ripped them away, fighting off the offending hands once again. He hated it. Hated, hated, hated it all. Hospitals. He hated them and they stunk like this. He hated doctors, their placating words and babying. And he hated needles. Too many over a life of sickness due to his albinism. His right knee was too numb. Why was it numb?  
  
Feeling around drew his attention to the wrongness of it. His joint was out of place, not too bad. It had happened enough. All he had to do was _snap_ it back it. Although when he did he heard the gasp from various people. He needed to know why he couldn't see. He stumbled into the wall, used it to brace his weight so he could address the people in the room.  
  
“Why can't I see?” A stammer from somewhere forward and to the right made his teeth grit in annoyance, fingers curling into a fist. “Why can't I **_see_**?” Pulling his hand back, he slammed it straight, listened with a pleased twist in his thoughts as it cracked.  
  
“It appears... some of the shrapnel pierced your eyes. Glass shards, it seems. We... removed them as best we could. Thankfully, due to your contributions to medicine in this, we were able to save them but...” Jack cut him off with a brittle, angry laugh. It was an ugly thing, the sound of a broken man.  
  
“Blind. Any chance of recovering?” A sharp intake of breath, the smell of lilies and orchids dancing in his senses. His mom was there, then. Especially apparent in the way the smell was accompanied by some form of... musk. Stuff. He _had_ to get his dad to change that, it was awful.  
  
“There is... that is... no.” The man seemed nervous to say it. Probably meant he hadn't told the parents yet. “And you will walk with a limp the rest of your life. We barely managed to reattach the tendons in your knee.” He made to put his hand on the genius' shoulder, withdrawing it quickly. “I'm _sorry_.”  
  
“Hey, Dr. Michaels, it's cool. At least now I have a good excuse to go on a blind date right?” A few chuckles around the room. Not that his dad would let him. Besides, his standards were a bit high. Ridiculously so. That and there really wasn't time for romance when you were a genius just starting a company and working into a conflict.  But... he couldn't help the fact that he was so well aware of how weak he would get until he was used to the blindness. If he ever got used to it. He hated this feeling. It had existed most his childhood.  
  
That thought had the tears coming down his face, blank and red eyes closing, lips curling into a snarl. He wasn't weak, wasn't anything like that, not anymore. He was thankful the doctor and nurses had left to give him and his parents privacy. The soft click of shoes brought his attention to his mother, they were slow, cautious, purposefully loud.  
  
“Jackie? Are you... oh dear.” Arms wrapped around her, made her bring her hands to white hair. Her son's body shook with barely restrained sobs. He wasn't weak, he couldn't be, he needed to not be. “Come on, tell me what's wrong.” He let out a garbled sound, something like a nearly broken sob. He pulled her as close as possible, arms holding her tight as he dared.  
  
“I'm fine.” He wasn't though, not a bit. But Jack loosened his hold all the same, fingers clenching in the fabrics of her dress. Suddenly, for no reason at all, the genius was tired. Red eyes shuttered as he sat and heard his mother going through a bag.  
  
“Put these on when you're ready. Your Nanna can handle that meeting.” A frown tugged his face even as she forced him to lay down, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. The sunglasses in his hands felt foreign now.  
  
“I'm blind, Mom. How am I supposed to...”  
  
"You're a Spicer. Not a Reynolds no matter how your father fought me on that. We Spicers are a sturdy folk. 'Born and bred on German soil in-'”  
  
“'The place between here and there, now and then, and to and fro'. I remember.” The pressure of lips to the albino's forehead made him almost grimace. At least she wasn't wearing lipstick this time. Gross. “I'll live and I'll survive so I thrive because that's what we Spicers do.” A chuckle met him from his mother, fingers carding through his hair. He loved her. He really, truly did. It was a shame he couldn't see her anymore.  
  
“Never forget that, _Sternchen. Je dunkler die Nacht, je schöner der Tag. So war es und so wird esimmer sein_.” As with the last time, his mother's voice was the last thing he knew before black coated his vision. Images of water greeted him in his dreams.


	2. Stop and Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase learns that not all hurts can be mended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 1733  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown nor do I profit from this story.
> 
> All right. Some more of this. I HAVE GERMAN FRIENDS TO BETA MY GERMAN NOW. WHOO HOO. Okay, so, the other was... getting really ridiculous? So from this chapter on this entire fic is changing DRASTICALLY from the original. I'm probably ending it at 12 but definitely not doing 16 (unless 15 leaves something necessary for an epilogue).

To say he was annoyed was an understatement. He was lost, lost in his own home and with no idea where he was or why he'd thought he didn't need help. Aside from stubborn pride. Because that's what it was, stubborn, mulish, pointless pride. Glasses firmly on his face (why, he didn't know, not like anyone was around to see it), the hook from his left eye curled down and over his cheek. He'd been fighting memories of someone pushing him up and to safety. Which was stupid because that was impossible.

Adjusting his shirt, damn thing falling off his shoulder, the albino took a few shaky steps forward, hand gripping at the wall. As he rounded a corner, he frowned, smelling something out of place. One thing he could say for sure was that he'd gotten better senses from the deal. Cane clicking in front of him, the youth huffed, trying to place the smell. He could hear, faintly, another heartbeat in the hallway. It was steady and strong, made him curious about who it was. Not the monks. No.

“Hello, Spicer.” This sent his cane fumbling out of his hands, dropping to the floor and rolling. He dropped down quickly, tapping a few times and then snatching it up. Setting it back into his hand, securing it with the strap around his wrist, he pushed forward, grimacing as his knee gave a sort of squelching noise.

“Hello, Chase. Excuse me, I need to get through.” He heard a scoff, lips curling back at the pain lancing up his leg. It hurt, hurt badly enough to where he wondered if losing the damn leg would have been better. But no, he had to be stubborn. And blind.

“Where are you going?” Jack sighed, counting his steps, trying to remember where exactly he was. He'd been in the attic. And after that he'd... oh hell, he was so lost he couldn't remember where he went after that. With a defeated groan, the albino felt his knee begin to give way, cane only being able to keep him slightly up. He was caught, strong and warm hands holding him upright again. “Spicer?”

“To the kitchen. If I could find it.” Red eyes closed, breath coming out slowly. Right, so, when he got to where he was headed he was taking those fabulous bottles and sticking them in his room. He could get food sent up, he was capable. Three weeks. Three weeks and he was getting lost in a home he'd torn down and redesigned. He built the damn thing. He did the blue prints and the floor plans. He shouldn't have been having problems finding anything. And where the hell was his kitchen?

“Didn't you think to look for it?” Nose twitching, the dragon noted the scent of... wrongness. Not sickness, no, but he smelled of medication. And pain. Helplessness. It urged him to kill things to claim him. As odd as that thought was. Claim him as what, he didn't know. But his base instincts were screaming that Jack was _pretty_ and that he should be kept. Like a hoard. “How pathetic that you're lost in your own home.”

“Kinda hard when you can't really... know what, I think the kitchen's back this way.” Hand trailing on the wall, cane supporting his shaky gait, he turned and moved to the stair case. Stairs. Shit. He hated stairs. He practically had to crawl up and down them. This was getting him nowhere. Down the stairs, to the left, fifteen paces into the room forward, eleven to the right. Multiple pills, taken in quick succession. He could do this. _Think Happy Pill thoughts_ , he told himself.

“When you can't what, Spicer?” Gloved fingers traced over his temple, sliding hair back and out of his face. Red eyes narrowed behind gaudy glasses, frown coming to white lips. The warlord had heard of the accident, knew Jack was injured. It didn't explain the odd way he was reacting to simple movements. Or why he smelled so _wrong_. He followed the young man down the stairs, catching him occasionally on his trip down.

“If you'll excuse me, I've got Happy Pills to guzzle.” Golden eyes narrowed, steps echoing purposefully behind the albino. The scent of despair was mingling into his wrongness then. It sickened the immortal that he was actually worried. Happy Pills, he had mumbled, pills meant to dull his pain.

“You never answered me. When you can't what, Spicer?” Hands carded through white hair, fingers tugging in on the glasses and setting them on the counter. Surely, quickly even, the injured man pulled out the pills. There were many, so many that it shocked Chase into near silence. It couldn't be healthy to take that many.

“I'm blind.” And then everything clicked into place, the way he'd been jerking at every touch and sound, the glasses, the fact that he hadn't even bothered to _observe_ any Showdowns. He'd had the Wu he'd kept delivered to Chase, though he made sure to send a recording of that to the monks. They'd been annoyed, slightly worried, but almost furious that he'd give the warlord all his Wu. Watching as he quickly downed his pills, gloved fingers slid over Jack's jaw, sliding up and to his eyes. There were scars there, barely visible, white on whiter skin. But his eyes were blank. No recognition, nothing. There was a filmy, cloud-like layer over the iris and pupils, obscuring both from sight.

“Funny, you can't see and I can barely see the color of your eyes.” That earned a startled laugh, eyebrows furrowing and the laughing one trying to cover his mouth. The irony wasn't lost on him. Really, it wasn't. But Jack's reaction had startled him. “What?”

“You act like I'm not blind it's....” Trailing off, Chase only briefly noted the wide smile on the human's face. Instead he breathed in. The despair was washed away, not because of the medication either. The boy honestly thought it was funny. “It's really, really good to not be treated like I'm an invalid for once.”

Pointed ears were twitching. He didn't see the point in treating Jack in any other way. He was still Jack Spicer, still a bit of a brat and painfully foolish, but the same person.

 _Mew_.

“Well, hello, Sasha. Nice to hear you about.” Golden eyes turned onto the cat that entered, missing the cane rising up and pelting him in the side. Snarling, he barely had time to steady Jack as he shrank back. That had smarted, yes, but he could tell it wasn't on purpose.

“Steady, Spicer, no harm done.” No harm at all, really, it was a momentary ache. And it was a nuisance. But really, it didn't matter in the end. Fingers curling slightly around thin ( _why are they so thin?_ ) arms, Chase guided the albino to the closest chair. Sasha bounded up to sit on the table, purring when two different sets of hands went to petting her. Jack chuckled, eyes drooping tiredly.

“Got a meeting tomorrow. Gotta get t' s'eep.” Sasha mewed, speaking without words to the dragon. Trying to urge him to get Jack to his room.

 “Allow me to take you to your room.” That had Jack shooting up, eyes wide in his general direction. “I fear that if I don't, your Sasha will find a way to use me as a scratching post.” Purring echoed from the cat then, the feline settling in the human's lap. The warlord shifted his stance, just slightly, magic surrounding them and taking them to Spicer's room. He'd added, as an afterthought, the boy's pills, settling them on the bedside table.

 “Thanks.” A huff, long fingers curling into white hair and securing blankets around both the bed's occupants was the only answer.

 “Spicer, a word of advice.” Red eyes blinked open, the blind man staring blankly in Chase's general direction. It made the dragon's gut clench painfully. He could still vividly remember how those eyes would immediately focus on him even in a situation where he was hiding away. They would unerringly find him. Now, now they were looking somewhere past his hips and then his shoulder when he knelt by the bedside. He turned the blind man's face a bit, frowning at the grin on tired features.

 “ _Was es?_ ” Chase snorted at the tired tone, thumb stroking gently over a slightly sloping nose. The mentioned nose twitched and the grin turned into a lazy smile.

 “Stop and listen. Use your ears first and the rest of your senses will catch up.” Strong fingers scratched at Sasha's back under the blankets, lips still in a frown even as Jack drifted to sleep, eyes closing peacefully.

 --=--

 Jack arrived at the press conference early, well rested and quietly amused. He'd called in several favors, one being to Kimiko's dad. Both the Tomohikos were there, as were his Nanna, mother, and father. Though the latter was only there because he'd been dragged. That thought in mind, the youngest Spicer hit his dad in the back of the head, grin in place.

 “I sent some people to finish setting it up. You just act cool and then you and Mom can celebrate your anniversary.” His dad laughed, pulling him into a tight hug. And then adjusting Jack's tie with a tsking noise. Jack let him, chuckling when the older man pushed the hair out of his face and secured his glasses better.

 “Mister Spicer! It's time.” And so saying, they walked onto the stage, ready to field questions and reply firmly. And for the next three hours, aside from his general questions, questions about his health, and questions about production, he and Kimiko nearly died of laughter several times. The reporters thought that, just because he was collaborating with Mister Tomohiko that he was in a relationship with Kimiko. At one point, he'd gotten the feeling that Chase was in the crowd but he merely grinned.

 When it was over he nearly laughed in the face of every reporter thanking him for his time. They'd tried to fire him the same questions in different words. Not that it worked. He and Kimiko just so _happened_ to be geniuses, thank you very much. And for the first time in nearly a month (to think he'd spent almost a week in the hospital) he felt like himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Was es?_ This? It literally means “what it?” Basically he forgot the _ist_ which means **is**.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Sternchen_ is “little star,” _Je... Tag_ is “the darker the night, the brighter the day” and is a folk saying, _So... sein_ is “so it was and so it will always be” which can be most notably be found in the song "Rosenrot" by **Rammstein**.


End file.
